


i see what you cannot;

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Jaskier is a banshee, M/M, bc WHY NOT?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22798486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: When Geralt accepts a job, he's not offered money but something rarer: a banshee, specifically a male banshee. He's not interested, but then things take an unexpected turn.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 36
Kudos: 917





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i just wanted to say: thanks, from the bottom of my heart, for the support yall have been giving me... i truly hope i can keep producing content yall enjoy - if ur interested in supporting me, the info will be at the end of the chap as per usual
> 
> side note i have only seen the netflix show and am taking a lot of creative liberty concerning the myth of banshees

Geralt felt like he was on fire, the anger burning him from the inside out. “You _what?_ ” he asked, nearly in disbelief because surely he had heard the man wrong. There was no way he’d seriously just admitted to –

“I don’t have the amount I promised,” he said, for the second time.

Geralt was seriously questioning his moral code of not slaughtering humans. “But you let me do the job, anyway,” he snarled. It wasn’t a question.

“I did,” the man replied, and he was annoyingly calm. “Because I had _another_ form of payment.”

Geralt stepped closer – he loomed over the man in height – and glared down at him, unimpressed. “All I care about,” he said, slow, “is coin.”

That had been his motto for decades and he stuck by it. The only thing he was loyal to.

“But I have something you’d surely be interested in!” the man exclaimed, and finally his mask of bravery slipped, revealing eyes wide with fear. “Just – just let me show, okay?”

Geralt growled, low in his chest. His fingers itched with the want to punch the man in the face. But he held back – for the moment. “I’m not interested in anything you have to offer,” he said, perfectly even. And he wasn’t.

But the man put on a convincing show, throwing his arms out, wide, “Just let me show you and – and then you can decide what to do.” His eyes flickered to the swords on Geralt’s back, throat bobbing.

Geralt considered his options. He _could_ just go, but then he’d be left with nothing. And while the monster hadn’t been exceptionally hard to kill, it had been annoyingly stubborn and taken up quite a few hours of his day. He could, of course, do what he wanted and punch the man but all he’d get out of that was short-lived satisfaction. Still nothing to show for it.

Or he could at least take a look at what he was offering.

“Fine,” he snarled, “But this has better be good.”

The man smiled, a little wobbly. “It is,” he said, “I swear you won’t be disappointed.”

Geralt stared at him, unimpressed. “Lead the way.”

The man hesitated, obviously not wanting to turn his back to him, before eventually giving in and turning around. Geralt followed him, silent.

-

The man – Reynard, he called himself – lived in a small cabin on the outskirts of town. He lead Geralt through the door and stopped in a small living room adorned with just a couple chairs.

“Do you want – ” he started to ask.

Geralt breathed out, hard, through his nose. “I want nothing but my payment.”

“Right,” Reynard said, visibly flinching. “Follow me.”

He walked out of the living room and down a short hallway, stopping in front of a door. Geralt stopped, too, folding his arms over his chest. He raised an eyebrow, expectantly.

“Right, well,” the man said before opening the door.

Geralt was unimpressed when he saw what the man was offering: a young man, probably his son. He was sleeping on a ratty bed and wore even rattier clothing, torn and stained.

“ _This_ is it?” he asked Reynard, fire in his eyes. “Not only do you disrespect me, you offer up your own – ”

Reynard threw his hands in the air, stopping him, “That _thing_ is not my son.” That caught Geralt off guard, just enough that he didn’t know how to respond right away and so Reynard continued, hands still in the air, “I found him on the side of the road and brought him back here. He – he kept claiming he was, uh…”

Geralt was not a patient man. “ _What?”_ he barked, and the man shifted on the bed with a quiet groan.

“A banshee,” he said finally.

Geralt was, once again, taken back by the information. “That can’t be right,” he said, mostly to himself. He glanced at the sleeping man. “Banshees are female spirits.”

“That’s what he told me,” Reynard said, fast, “I just – ”

Geralt rounded on him again, eyes narrowed. “You thought you could pay me off with _this_?” he gestured at the man without even looking. “An impostor pretending to be – ”

“I’m not _pretending_ to be _anything.”_ A man’s voice, perfectly even and almost melodic.

Geralt’s arm fell as he turned to look at the man – the impostor – sitting up in the bed, clutching at the sheets. He sneered, “Banshees are female spirits.”

“If you truly think that,” he said without missing a beat, “then you are not as educated on our kind as you think, dear Witcher.”

Geralt’s skin prickled and he growled, low, without even realizing it. Reynard shifted on his feet.

“Um,” he said.

Geralt turned back to him. “I don’t want him,” he snarled. “I’ll give you two days to – ”

“He won’t have two days,” the impostor said, almost sadly.

Geralt closed his eyes, took a deep breath. “What are you talking about?” he asked without opening his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Reynard,” the man said, “You found me for a reason – I was drawn to you because… well.”

Geralt heard clumsy footsteps and opened his eyes; Reynard’s eyes were wide with fear. “No, no, I – ”

“I’m sorry,” the impostor repeated again, even softer.

Geralt growled and turned on his heels. “Two days,” he said, stern. “I’ll be back in two days.”

He was not interested in this nonsense beyond getting what he deserved: coins for a finished job. Geralt walked down the hall without looking back, even as the man scrambled out of bed and rushed into the hall, nearly tripping over himself.

“Witcher, wait – ”

But Geralt was already at the door. He opened it, stepped out into the cold night air, and shut it.

-

Geralt returned two days later when the sun was high in the sky and the day was hot. He knocked on the door, once, twice. He wasn’t actually that surprised to not get an answer – he assumed Reynard would avoid him if he couldn’t gather enough coin to pay him.

Sighing, he knocked again, harder. “Reynard, just – ”

The door opened but it was decidedly not Reynard on the other side. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Geralt glared at the man. He was still wearing the same ratty clothes. “Why?” he grunted because he was a glutton for punishment, apparently.

Without replying, the man turned and walked away. Geralt growled, mostly to himself, before following him to the living room. Geralt caught a whiff of –

“Death,” he muttered in disbelief.

Reynard was on the couch. He looked untouched, like he was simply sleeping, but Geralt knew better.

“You did this,” he said without missing a beat.

“I have never killed a person,” was the man’s reply. “I _sense_ death, I do not cause it.”

Geralt looked up. His fingers twitched. His swords were heavy on his back, calling to him. The man stepped forward, hands in the air.

“Reynard tried to sell you off,” Geralt said, “You were mad and so you killed him.”

The man’s lips quirked up for the briefest of seconds, a mix between a smile and a grimace. “Reynard was wrong for that,” he agreed breezily, “but I wouldn’t have killed him over it. He helped me when I was injured and I will always be grateful for that.”

Geralt reached for his sword. The man watched his movement, but did not try to stop him.

“Jaskier,” he said, and Geralt paused. “That is my name. Or, well… it is the name I have chosen, at least.”

“You still expect me to buy your act?” he snarled, pulling his sword out and pointing it at the man’s head. He was unwavering in the face of death. Geralt could, at least, respect that. “I’m a Witcher, I’ve been alive for many, many years; I have _never_ heard of a male banshee.”

Jaskier tilted his head, almost thoughtful, “Most of my kind have died out, that much is true. Frankly, I might be the last of them.”

Geralt stared at Jaskier; he really did look so young, soft around the edges. “Two questions,” he said finally, surprising even himself, “And then I’ll make my decision.”

Finally Jaskier smiled, a true thing. “Whatever you wish to know, Witcher.”

“What were you doing here?” he asked gruffly. He didn’t lower his sword for even a second. He was curious, not dumb.

Jaskier’s smile faltered a bit. “I am sure you know of the rumors,” he said, “Banshees follow death.”

Geralt sniffed, looking at Reynard, “You traveled all the way to a small town for one man’s death?”

“Not exactly,” he replied, slowly. “There will be many more deaths.”

Geralt’s head snapped back up. “What do you mean?”

“There will be a slaughtering,” he answered, “Many will be killed by a monster.”

Geralt’s fingers twitched around the hilt of his sword. He gripped it, tight. “What kind of monster?”

“I do not have all the details,” Jaskier said a little curtly. “I am a banshee, not a psychic.”

Geralt snorted, unable to help himself. “Do you know when?” he asked and he lowered his sword, not all the way but enough that it wasn’t pointed directly at Jaskier.

“Soon,” was his reply.

Geralt took a deep breath. “Banshees are _just_ as annoyingly cryptic as psychics, at least,” he said, dry.

Jaskier smiled, biting the inside of his cheek, “No one has all the answers.”

“Second question,” he said. “What did you mean by _injured_?”

“I was being followed,” Jaskier said, no longer smiling. “People… have a misconception of my kind,” he explained, frowning, “They think we bring death – that we’re cursed, the usual. Often I am attacked or chased out of towns and cities for it.”

Geralt lowered his sword to the floor.

“I’d been attacked. I fled before they did something stupid – ”

“Because if a human kills a banshee, they're fated to death,” he muttered, remembering the myth.

Jaskier smiled tightly, “I was weak when Reynard found me, but he lent me a bed and I fully recovered.” He pressed a hand to his stomach, fingers splayed out. “That is why I would never kill him. He saved me. His morals are none of my concern.”

“You weren’t worried, then?” Geralt asked. He was saying more than he had in months.

Jaskier shrugged, a sharp jerky movement. “I am not a damsel in distress,” he said, “I would’ve found a way out, but – ” His eyes flickered up to Geralt’s face. “Looks like I won’t need to.” He smiled, just one corner of his mouth, lop-sided and surprisingly human, “You are a good man, Witcher.”

Geralt didn’t know what to say to that. So he did what he did best: said nothing. Sheathing his sword, he grunted and turned on his heels. If he wasn’t getting paid, he had no reason to stay in town.

“Wait!” Jaskier exclaimed.

“What?” he asked without turning around.

Jaskier cleared his throat, “I think Destiny brought us together to help this town, these people.” He heard shuffling of feet and when he turned Jaskier was even closer. His eyes shifted from a brilliant blue to a brilliant red, almost mesmerizing. Banshees weren’t exceptionally powerful, usually, but still Geralt could _feel_ the power pouring off the young man. “Stay and help me.”

Geralt let out a humorless laugh, “Destiny can go _fuck_ itself.”

Surprisingly, Jaskier laughed, eyes sparkling. “Fair enough,” he conceded, “but my point still stands – there will be _many_ causalities if you don’t stay and help me.”

Geralt breathed out, hard, through his nose, “I don’t work for free.” He ignored the familiar tug of guilt. It wasn’t his job to protect these people; he’d only even been in the town for three, four days. Destiny, like always, could fuck off. He wasn’t a puppet to her whims.

“You say that,” Jaskier muttered, “but I know you don’t want innocents to die, not when you could stop it.”

Geralt frowned. He wanted to say he was wrong, but the words caught in his throat, almost choking him. He swallowed, _hard_. “You don’t know me,” he argued but the words fell flat.

“You can help me,” Jaskier said, soft and full of hope. “You can save them.”

Geralt wanted to turn and leave. He wanted to never look back. He wanted to forget the hopeful, bright look in Jaskier’s eyes. He wanted to forget _everything_.

“Please,” Jaskier said, and _fuck_ , Geralt could feel himself giving in. “Help – ”

“ _Fine!_ ” he exploded, and Jaskier startled, eyes widening. He really did look human. “I’ll help.”

At that, Jaskier brightened like the sun. Geralt’s stomach did something funny. He ignored it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter: queermight  
> tumblr: korrmin

“So, why exactly do I need your help?” Geralt drawled, staring at Jaskier – the fucking banshee, because apparently _everything_ Geralt knew about the world of monsters was a _lie_ – who was currently sitting on the couch after Geralt had so nicely disposed of Reynard’s body, tucking him away in a shallow grave.

Jaskier looked up, munching on a cracker.

“Do you even have to eat?” he asked before he could help himself.

Jaskier grinned around a mouthful of mush, “Not as often as humans, no, but _Gods_ , isn’t food enjoyable?”

Geralt didn’t dignify him with a reply, mostly because his answer would’ve been _yes_.

“Anyway, I can’t tell the exact day tragedy will strike, especially this far in advance,” Jaskier said, shifting on the couch and licking crumbs from the corner of his mouth – Geralt pointedly looked away and he didn’t think too hard about why. “But my dread will keep growing the closer we get to the day until it’s all-consuming.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, expectantly, “Then what?”

“Then you can be prepared,” Jaskier answered simply. He shrugged one shoulder. “You’re the Witcher.”

Geralt hmmed. “Usually I have more information when I’m preparing to hunt a monster.”

“It’s complicated…” Jaskier continued, obviously referring to his powers, “but I do get flashes of stuff.” Geralt waited, hoping for something actually useful. Jaskier tilted his head thoughtfully, squeezed his eyes shut. “I saw something, um… wait – ” his eyes flew open. “Fuck.”

Geralt did not like the sounds of that. “What?” he asked gruffly. “What did you see?”

Jaskier looked up, an odd tilt to his lips. “It’s not one monster, but several.”

“Oh,” Geralt said, dry as a desert, “Yippee.”

Jaskier stared at him for a long, silent moment before he laughed, high-pitched and squeaky. Geralt pressed his lips together, tight, suppressing a laugh because _what the fuck was happening?_

“You’re weird,” he commented, eyes bright.

Geralt grimaced. He didn’t know if he should be insulted or not.

Jaskier grinned, toothy. Geralt had never seen such a happy banshee. Usually they were weighed down, rightfully so, by death. It was all around them. It was part of them. “It’s a compliment,” Jaskier said, pulling him from his thoughts.

“I need more information,” he said, voice rough, focusing on the job because it was safer. There was no missing the look in Jaskier’s eyes. Geralt stood up a little straighter, arms folded over his chest. “Spit it out,” he said, almost growling.

Jaskier sighed, tucking his hands together in his lap, “There’s a way I can… perhaps learn more.”

“Then do it,” he replied sharply.

Jaskier tilted his head. “I can’t do it on my own.”

Geralt almost laughed, scrubbing a hand down his face, “Of course you can’t,” he grumbled, hand falling away, “What do I need to do?”

“Oh,” Jaskier brightened up, but it was forced, Geralt could tell and he’d known the banshee for five, six hours total, “You just need to hold my head underwater.”

Geralt blinked, “What?”

“Or you could stab me,” Jaskier continued brightly, “But you need to be careful not to hit a vital – ”

Geralt pushed off from the wall. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Jaskier’s mask fell away, “My visions are heightened when I’m near death.”

“Okay, well, we’re not doing that,” he replied, fast and firm.

He promptly ignored the way Jaskier smiled, leaning forward. He had a few crumbs stuck to his chin. “I knew you were a good man, Geralt of Rivia,” he said, and for a few seconds Geralt regretted telling him his name. He said it like an endearment, slow and sure. “You could have all the answers you want but you don’t want to risk my life.”

Geralt looked away, “I don’t kill unless I have to.”

“You may not kill me,” he pointed out. “I’m assuming you’re educated in where your vitals – ”

Geralt’s head snapped back in his direction, “I am not stabbing you,” he snarled, leaving no room for argument.

Jaskier shrugged, leaning back, “Then we wait. You’re good at that, right?” His eyes sparkled with amusement, the bastard.

“Or we could pack up and get out of town,” he offered, but he knew that wasn’t an option, not really. He couldn’t abandon innocents to the wrath of a monster, and somehow Jaskier knew that, smiling softly.

“No,” he said knowingly, “We can’t.”

-

Geralt was not a patient man. Two days passed with nothing. He was starting to think Jaskier was lying when one morning the banshee collapsed in the small kitchen, hitting his head on the edge of the table. Geralt rushed over without a second thought.

Jaskier groaned, rubbing at his head, as Geralt crouched, looking him over.

“What the fuck?” he asked, eloquent as always.

Jaskier sniffed, hand falling from the back of his head and landing in his lap, “Sorry, just got a little dizzy.”

“And is that normal?” he asked pointedly.

Jaskier smiled tightly, “Yes, when death is right around the corner.”

Geralt nodded and helped him back to his feet. Jaskier smiled thankfully. Geralt had never known such a honest person. Jaskier expressed his emotions openly. Geralt was both unnerved and impressed by it. “How soon?” he asked, clearing his throat.

Focus.

Jaskier sighed, “Usually within a day or two.”

“Great,” Geralt said, dry as a bone, “So we’re back to waiting.”

Jaskier shifted on the couch, eyelashes fluttering. Geralt knew he didn’t mean anything by it, but a fire roared in the pit of his stomach anyway. He always had a problem with getting worked up – in more ways than one – before a fight.

Turning away, he sat in one of the chairs and pulled his bag over. They were silent as Geralt wiped down his swords. It was pointless, especially considering he’d be getting them dirty again soon, but it was something to do.

A distraction from the way Jaskier sighed, a soft airy sound that went straight to Gerat’s cock.

Fuck, he was _not_ a good man. Jaskier was wrong about that.

“Are you tired?” Geralt asked when Jaskier sighed, _again_. “You should get some rest. We’ll take turns keeping watch.”

Jaskier smiled, an upward quirk of his lips, “Might be smart. Sometimes visions hit me in my sleep.”

Geralt nodded, once. He expected Jaskier to get up and go to the room to sleep. He surprised Geralt, for better or worse, by curling up on the couch, tucking his hands under his head. He closed his eyes and Geralt watched him.

He really did look human with light skin, thick brows, not very impressive lips.

(So why did Geralt keep glancing at them?)

After a few minutes, he placed his sword back in his bag, sheathed. “Jaskier?”

Predictably, the banshee didn’t respond, just curled up into a smaller, tighter ball. Geralt snorted as he stood up and walked into the kitchen. He searched for food; Jaskier had finished the crackers. He noticed a basket of fruit and sighed, grabbing an apple.

He leaned against the counter and took a big, crunchy bite, satisfied as he chewed and swallowed it.

Geralt had heard many things about banshees but, well, he assumed most of the rumors were incorrect, considering they’d never mentioned a male banshee. In all the depictions he’d ever seen, it’d been women with long, stringy hair and claws.

Jaskier looked nothing like that. He was unexpectedly soft and pretty.

He went to take another bite before realizing he’d finished the apple. “Hmm,” he said, tossing it.

That’s when he heard it: Jaskier wailed, sudden and sharp. Geralt’s first instinct was to run to him, _check_ on him, but his feet were glued to the floor. He sneered. Evidently not _all_ the rumors had been incorrect; a banshee’s wail still paralyzed people.

Geralt fought against it, pushed against the current, until he heard Jaskier gasp and used the opportunity to run to the living room.

Leaning against the door frame, he watched as Jaskier seemed to come back to himself. He was sitting up, hands curled into fists in his lap. His eyes were open, wide and glassy. He blinked, once, and smacked his lips.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathed.

Geralt nodded. “Fuck,” he parroted. “You saw something.” It wasn’t a question.

Jaskier took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, “Um, it wasn’t – there were so many of them,” he said, eyes darting around the room, “They didn’t feel very powerful, but we were – fuck, we were outnumbered.”

“How many of them?” he asked, stepping into the room, closer to the couch.

Jaskier wrung his hands, tilting his head back and forth thoughtfully, “Fifty, at least.”

“Fuck,” he said, feeling at loss for words. “Did you get a good look at them?”

Jaskier reached up and rubbed his forehead, obviously thinking hard, “Kind of? Um, well – ”

By the end of it, Geralt knew what they were dealing with, “I think you’re just seeing ghouls,” he explained. “Resilient little fucks, but I – ”

Jaskier sat up straighter, a determined set to his eyebrows, “ _We_.”

“ _We_ ,” he corrected, “should be able to take them, but…”

Jaskier pressed his lips together, tight. “ _What?_ ”

“They can be exhausting to fight in large groups,” Geralt explained gruffly, “I have a potion that helps me, but…” He trailed off, an odd tilt to his lips. The implication hangs heavy in the air.

Jaskier scoffed, brushing his hair back from his face. It looked impossibly soft. “I can take care of myself.”

“Okay,” Geralt said with a shrug.

Jaskier blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” he said with just the smallest hint of amusement, “If you say you can take care of yourself, I believe you.”

Jaskier nodded and smiled, slow. He ducked his head and sighed, “You can sleep now. I’m, um, not very tired anymore.” Geralt opened his mouth, an argument ready, but Jaskier looked up, sharp and knowing, “Let me rephrase that: _go sleep_.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes, “But – ”

“You will be useless if you’re exhausted,” Jaskier said. “Your potions can only help so much.”

Geralt hated that he was right. He shifted on his feet. “Let me know if anything happens.”

“That is, indeed, the point of having a person keep watch,” he replied, sassy little fuck.

Geralt turned away and walked down the hall. He barely realized he was smiling until he entered the room and caught sight of himself in a small mirror. He cleared his throat, wiping the smile off his face, and walked to the bed.

-

Something touched his chest. Geralt grunted and opened his eyes, peering up at a wide-eyed Jaskier, his hand on his chest, fingers splayed out. His skin prickled at the touch, even through the many layers.

“Wh – ”

Jaskier put a finger to his lips. “Listen,” he whispered urgently.

Geralt frowned, listening. With his enhanced senses, one of the few gifts of being a Witcher, he could easily hear what sounded like groaning, far off and muffled. He sat up and Jaskier’s hand fell away from his chest. He pointedly did not think about how much he wished it hadn’t.

“I don’t know what ghouls sound like, but – ”

Geralt nodded curtly, “It’s them,” he confirmed, throwing his legs off the side of the bed. He grabbed his discarded armor and Jaskier put a hand on his arm.

“Let me,” he said.

Geralt had learned over the years how to put on and take off armor by himself. But he simply nodded again, handing Jaskier the breastplate. Jaskier helped him put everything back on, quickly snapping the straps together.

Finished, he stepped back. Geralt looked at him, searching his face.

He looked thinner, suddenly, with dark circles under his eyes. “How do you feel?”

Jaskier smiled, tight and forced, “I feel like death.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said. His fingers twitched with the urge to touch him, _comfort_ him. But it was an irrational want and he promptly pushed it away.

Standing up, he walked to the door and heard Jaskier’s footsteps behind him. He walked through the living room and kitchen, stopping at the door.

“I – ” he said, unsure what he wanted to say but feeling like he should say _something_.

Jaskier bumped their shoulders together, “Thank you for staying and helping,” he said softly.

Geralt cleared his throat, _hard_ , “I couldn’t let innocent people die,” he said, only half-lying.

“You’re a good man, Geralt,” Jaskier replied breezily, and he looked like he believed it.

Geralt felt an unexpected surge of guilt. He turned away and opened the door, “No, I’m not.”

Jaskier followed him out of the door. Geralt stopped on the dirt path, glancing toward the woods. He listened intently, focusing on the muffled groans of ghouls. “They’re at least ten, fifteen minutes away,” he said, “But usually they don’t attack unless they’re starving, which makes them fast and vicious.”

“Oh, fun,” Jaskier said dryly, and Geralt couldn’t help snorting.

He heard them approaching quickly and glanced over at Jaskier, realizing he didn’t have any weapons. His stomach lurched. “Hey,” he said gruffly, “You _can_ fight, right?”

Jaskier smiled, a sharp thing, “Not _all_ the rumors you’ve heard about banshees are incorrect, dear Witcher.”

Geralt watched, intrigued, as Jaskier brought his hands up, his fingernails sharpening to nasty looking claws. He wiggled his fingers and grinned cheekily.

“I can take care of myself,” he said, “But thanks for the concern.”

One corner of Geralt’s mouth quirked up, a half-smirk. He cleared his throat and looked away. He focused on the snarling of ghouls. “Any second now,” he said, low. Jaskier nodded, stepping up to wait by his side. The trees parted and ghouls rushed out, snarling.

Geralt pulled his sword out. His eyes flickered to Jaskier before looking away again.

He couldn’t worry about him – _too_ much. He had to take care of himself, too. The ghouls rushed them, nearly tripping over each other. Jaskier had been right; there were dozens of them, easily fifty or sixty. Geralt steeled himself for a fight.


	3. Chapter 3

Geralt charged one of the ghouls and stabbed them right through the abdomen, black goo splattering across his face. He spun on his heels and sliced the head off another one. His eyes flickered to Jaskier, who was just fucking _standing there._

Ten or fifteen ghouls surrounded him, snarling.

“Jaskier!” he snapped, “ _Do_ something.”

Jaskier’s eyelashes fluttered as he opened his mouth and _wailed_. Geralt expected to be frozen, like before, but he wasn’t. No point in mulling over it; he killed another ghoul with a swift slice through the middle of its body.

That’s when the ground rumbled underneath his feet and his eyes widened, just slightly.

Jaskier was still wailing. Geralt looked around; the ground parted in a few spots and bony fingers stuck out from between the cracks. He watched with bathed breath as _skeletons_ , bones clacking, climbed out from the cracks.

“The fucking rumors,” he said with a disbelieving laugh.

Jaskier grinned over at him, no longer wailing. For a moment, it was still, eerily quiet. The calm before the storm. Finally, the ghouls snarled, throwing themselves at them. The skeletons jumped in front of them, using themselves as shields, and Geralt stopped, watching as the ghouls clawed and bit at the skeletons. The skeletons kept dropping to the ground only to get back up seconds later.

He’d heard of banshees being able to summon skeletons, but he’d never seen it. If the rumors were true, the skeletons wouldn’t be very strong but resilient, just like the ghouls. They were evenly matched, which bought them time but not much else.

“You really _can_ take care of yourself,” he remarked, secretly impressed.

Jaskier shrugged, “I’m not helpless,” he said, “But they won’t hold for long. We will still have to fight.”

Geralt lifted his sword, “What will you do when – ?” Jaskier reached down and pulled something out of his boot; a tiny dagger. He spun it, once. Geralt ran his tongue over his teeth; now he was secretly impressed and vaguely turned on. _Not a good time_ , he thought bitterly, “Fair enough.”

Normally daggers were too close-combat for ghouls, but he had faith in Jaskier.

Geralt’s brain came to a halting stop. Another skeleton dropped, bones clattering. He had _faith_ in _Jaskier_.

_He had faith in Jaskier._

What the _fuck?_

“ _Geralt!_ ” Jaskier exclaimed, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Geralt growled, low in his throat, and looked over. Most of the skeletons had fallen and weren’t getting back up, properly defeated by the snarling, bloodthirsty ghouls.

They lurched forward and Geralt met them halfway, slicing through two of them at once. He heard Jaskier gasp and glanced over without even thinking – a rookie mistake. Thankfully, Jaskier threw his dagger, narrowly missing Geralt’s cheek, and took one of the ghouls down before the damned thing could claw his throat out.

He flushed with embarrassment. Tried not to think about how Jaskier had just trashed his only weapon.

_(For you.)_

Geralt stabbed and sliced through ghouls, anger bubbling under the surface of his skin. Finally, he got a long enough break to pull the dagger out of the fallen ghoul and toss it back to Jaskier, who had been using a stick – fucking _dork_ , he thought with a startling amount of fondness - to defend himself.

They just kept coming, though, relentless in their pursuit to take them down and enter the town.

“Um, do ghouls usually – ” Jaskier stabbed a ghoul in the throat and yanked it back out “ – travel in such big packs?”

Geralt licked his lips. He should not have been turned on by the sight of Jaskier, a fucking _banshee_ , stabbing ghouls, cheeks splattered with black goo. Shaking his head, he sliced a ghoul’s head off, “Yeah, but they don’t usually attack towns. They stick around cemeteries and feed on dead bodies.”

“Yeah, well,” Jaskier said, spinning on his heels and stabbing a ghoul in the face, “Don’t think they care.”

Geralt snorted, taking two ghouls down at once. He jumped back and swung his sword, black goo spraying across the grass. He waited, expecting for the ghouls to charge him again, like they had been. But they didn’t.

They all turned at once, like they were moving together, and charged at Jaskier.

Geralt snarled, feeling an animalistic urge to _protect._ He jumped forward and sliced and stabbed, no longer interested in a clean or easy job. He kept swinging his sword, kept taking them down. He couldn’t hear everything but the rushing in his ears.

“ _Geralt_.”

He sliced through a ghoul’s body and watched with a sick satisfaction as the body fell limply to the ground. It’s what they deserved for –

_“Geralt!”_

Geralt snapped out of it and barely jumped back before a ghoul could gut him, slicing through their arm. Jaskier rushed forward and took a deep breath, shoulders tensing. Geralt stabbed his sword through the ghoul’s body, knowing an injury wasn’t enough to kill them.

“What are you doing?” he asked, gruff, as he noticed more and more ghouls spilling out of the woods. Fuck, they needed help. Geralt didn’t make a habit of doubting his own abilities, but he _was_ a realist and –

Jaskier opened his mouth and screamed, high-pitched. Geralt dropped his sword, covering his ears.

“Jaskier,” he said, unsure if he could hear him over his own shrieking. The ghouls all paused, frozen. He groaned and pulled one hand away from his ears, reaching down to grab his sword. His ears rung even after Jaskier stopped, mouth snapping shut.

“ _Now!_ ” Jaskier snapped, “It won’t hold for long.”

Geralt nodded, curt, and went to work, cutting down ghouls without hesitation. Jaskier swayed back and forth, obviously weak. He growled and moved faster, pushing his limits; he needed to kill as many as he could or else Jaskier’s efforts would be in vain.

When the ghouls started moving again, just small twitches at first, they were down to just twenty or thirty of them. Geralt’s heart fluttered with something like excitement, the high of winning a fight. He hadn’t felt that in decades, centuries. They could do this. They were actually going to do this. Geralt knew he wasn’t a good man, because he cared more about knowing Jaskier would be okay than the dozens of innocent life he’d saved.

He stabbed a ghoul and looked over at Jaskier, expecting to find bright hope in his eyes.

Instead his eyes were dull, dark. He stumbled and fell to a heap on the ground. Geralt’s stomach lurched painfully as he looked away. Not yet. He had to finish things.

The ghouls jumped at him and he killed them, one by one, slicing through their bodies without hesitation. Finally, there were only four left. They swayed side to side, obviously trying to find an opening. Ghouls weren’t as dumb as some people – even some Witchers - thought. Geralt knew better though.

He sneered. “Come on,” he said, “ _cowards_.”

They launched themselves at him and he growled, taking all of them down with one fell swoop of his sword. Their bodies fell to the ground with an audible thud. Geralt took a deep breath, pushed sweat-slick hair out of his face.

One, two, three –

Three bodies. Three ghouls.

Geralt’s heart hammed in his chest. He looked over and saw the last ghoul standing over Jaskier, drooling with hunger.

“No,” he whispered.

The ghoul dropped to the ground, clawed fingers reaching for Jaskier’s neck, snarling. Geralt was too far – he knew he wouldn’t get there in time. He closed his eyes, tight. For once he couldn’t watch.

Geralt didn’t believe in anything, but most of all he did not believe in a God. Of any kind, of any religion. He believed in what he saw. He was a realist, always had been, but in that moment he allowed himself just a little faith.

_Don’t let him die. Please._

He heard the thump of a body and opened his eyes, just a crack. The ghoul was on the ground, Jaskier’s dagger through their chest. Jaskier was sitting up, fingers wrapped around his own neck, eyes wide with fear. Geralt let out a sharp gasp, almost a laugh.

He rushed over and fell to his knees. “Are you okay?” he asked, looking him over.

Jaskier reached out and touched his arm. “I’m okay,” he said, “Are you?”

Geralt nodded quickly. If Jaskier was okay, he was okay. _Fuck_ , why was he thinking like that?

Jaskier looked around. His eyelashes fluttered as tears gathered in the corner of his eyes. His hand was still on Geralt’s arm. He squeezed, lightly. “We – we did it,” he said in disbelief. “Geralt,” he looked up at him, eyes bright, “We did it.”

“Yeah,” Geralt breathed, “We did.”

-

Geralt wanted to ask, but he didn’t know how. So he didn’t. He was a coward, a weak man. He sat at the table with Jaskier, who was munching on crackers. They’d stopped by the local tavern and grabbed food but Jaskier had denied any meat.

“You really don’t want any?” he asked, unable to help himself.

Jaskier grinned around a mouthful of mush. _Gross_ , Geralt thought almost fondly. “I’m good. Too bad we won’t get paid for any of this,” Jaskier continued after a moment, wiping his mouth with the back of his mind. He really was so much like a human, almost to a fault.

“It’s okay,” Geralt said without thinking. He realized, for once in his life, he didn’t really care about money.

Jaskier hummed, narrowing his eyes, “But you’ve been scammed out of payment for _two_ jobs now.”

Geralt was confused for a second before remembering right, _Reynard_. He couldn’t be too angry – the man was six feet under, literally. “It was worth it,” he said, perfectly even, “I learned a lot about your kind. That’s valuable information.”

“Oh, really?” he asked, voice dripping with amusement, “Glad I could help.”

Geralt shrugged, a sharp jerky movement. He took a big bite out of his pork, chewing quickly. He wanted to ask, he _needed_ to ask. But the words were caught in his throat, almost choking him. He swallowed, hard, and –

“Jaskier – ”

“Geralt – ”

Geralt’s mouth snapped shut. He gestured, “Go on.”

Jaskier licked his lips. Geralt pointedly looked away. “Would you be interested in learning… _more_ about my kind?”

Geralt cleared his throat, kept his hope at bay. “Jaskier,” he said, “What exactly are you asking?”

“I don’t have a home, Geralt,” he replied, slow. He looked truly nervous, almost shy, for the first time since Geralt had met him. “I travel, you travel… It’s what we do. Why not – I don’t know.” Jaskier squared his shoulders. Brave little thing. “Why don’t we travel together?”

Geralt looked down. He knew what he wanted to say, but instead he said, “It would be dangerous.”

“And you think my life isn’t dangerous?” Jaskier asked with a scoff. “I was almost dead when Reynard found me,” he reminded him, not unkindly, “We both live dangerous lives. It’s not our choice, but I think we would fare better together.”

Geralt knew better than to think he could get what he wanted. Or be happy. He was a Witcher – those things simply didn’t happen to him, and he could rather never have them than have them for a short period of time.

“But – ”

Jaskier reached across the table. Geralt’s eyes flickered to the crumbs on his chin. He placed a hand on Geralt’s arm, a feather light touch, “If you don’t want to, I understand.” He smiled sadly, “But don’t do it.”

Geralt couldn’t look away from the crumbs. They were oddly distracting. “Do what?”

“Ruin things for yourself because you don’t think you deserve them,” Jaskier said, much too knowingly.

Geralt looked up, finally. “You’ve gathered that much about me in just a few days?”

“Not exactly,” Jaskier said, soft, “I just recognize that look in your eyes because I’ve been there, too.” He stroked his thumb across the warm skin of Geralt’s arm. “I can make my own decisions, dear Witcher, and right now I want to accompany you.” He smiled, just a little, “If you’ll have me.”

Geralt swallowed needles and pins. He should turn him away. He should do the right thing.

(He was not a good man.)

“Okay,” he said, a simple answer to a loaded question.

Jaskier smiled brightly, “Okay, we’ll leave in the morning.” Geralt nodded, quiet for a moment. Jaskier’s nose scrunched up. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Yeah,” he replied without missing a beat. Jaskier flushed, cheeks pink, and reached up, missing the spot completely. Geralt reached out, slow, and thumbed the crumbs away. Jaskier sucked in a sharp breath, and Geralt realized with a sudden clarity that he wanted to kiss him. It had been years since he felt that urge, especially so strongly.

Jaskier reached up and wrapped his fingers around Geralt’s wrist, holding it. “Do it.”

Geralt had to stand up, lean across the table, the edge of it digging uncomfortably into his stomach, but –

As soon as their lips touched, he knew it was worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> love my fics? wanna support me and ensure they never stop coming? check out how to do that here: 
> 
> https://korrmin.tumblr.com/writing


End file.
